


Paris

by polarcenit



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Andrea and Miranda only interact at the very end, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/F, Its just Nigel thinking about a lot of things, Not sure what to add honestly, just came to be by accident, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28213146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polarcenit/pseuds/polarcenit
Summary: Miranda has changedRunway is terrifiedNigel PondersEmily worriesAndrea shocks
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 3
Kudos: 67





	Paris

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so, I was meant to be working on my Harry Potter fanfiction but somehow this came to be. I promise, for those who do follow my HP stuff, that despite being inactive for like 4 years, I will be returning (especially now that I found out I have ADHD, since it will be more manageable). I just lost a bunch of my notes on my stories which kind of... took out my spirit from those stories tbh. 
> 
> But I am back with ideas, I just need to properly plan them. And deal with law school. And a lot of other stuff.... but hey, there it is. Anyway, enjoy this story involving (barely) one of my favorite ships. Sorry if the end looks weird but I am not an expert in romance or attraction, I tried my best! Enjoy!

It was the end of the world.

It had to be, there was no other explanation.

When the one and only icon, queen of her field, and tyrant within her realm, not only showed her distraction but failed to aim her well known scathing glare at those that dared look her way, there had to be something wrong. This was the person that, after all, expected everything to go her way, the very definition of a powerful workaholic. Seldom was the day where she didn’t enter the enterprise, the distinguishing sound of her heels on the floors echoing the halls, surrounded by people urgently needing her stamp of approval, no visible sign of her work heavy night. It was not, either, ever surprising to see her soon after with a tight facial expression, lips pursed in irritation, as her vision of perfection was marred by the incompetence of her employees. Everyone knew, she had the power, she made the decisions, and they had to be applied to perfection. She was not to be messed with, and she expected a minimum.

This, really, is what marked the dualism in people’s emotions towards her. Quite simply, her work ethic and charisma made them love her but her intolerance towards the smallest of failures and strict expectations made many hate her. She was both a goddess and the very devil for most in the building, a figure to admire in jealousy, as the editor-in-chief of the most important fashion magazine in the world—no matter what Anna Wintour might think—Runway.

Today, however, what was normally a force of nature upon arrival came instead as a docile wind, sporting a soft smile instead of pursed lips. Her sure and angry walk, noticeably missing, was replaced by leisure steps more at home in a park than in the halls she usually haunted. By the time she sat down at the desk in her office, the entire building could not help but be simultaneously terrified, apprehending this new Miranda Priestly that no one had ever seen, and hopeful, her lack of anger inviting speculation and relief.

After seeing, for the thousandth time, a sigh leaving those lips and the accompanying daydreaming pause—which, in normal circumstances, she would never allow herself during work hours—Nigel looked outside, somehow surprised that pigs were not flying.

Swine with wings may still be inexistent, but it was most definitely the end of the world and no one could convince him otherwise.

It’s not that he was unhappy, honestly. Normally, he would be happy for the one he considered to be his friend, having worked with her for over two decades. Her altered state betrayed happiness, after all, something which he knew she desperately needed, despite her previous denials. The change, however, was so definite and striking compared to normality that he had a hard time wrapping his head around it, concerned and even considering the possibility of either drugs or aliens.

Or possession, really—it did seem like an entirely different person despite having Miranda’s face.

“Nigel! Please explain this to me, I am at my wits’ end!” came an urgent whisper to his left, making him glance at the person.

“She has been weird all morning and I don’t know how to handle her this way,” continued the stressed woman next to him, harshly clutching various folders in her hands, red hair in disarray, “she has not only accepted Thierry’s project—despite trashing it yesterday—but since then she has actually thanked four different people and even made small talk—small talk!!—with the security guards!”

From the corner of his left eye, Nigel could not help but observe the woman. Emily had worked under Miranda for as long as him and had even been called by many the most ardent fan of the editor-in-chief, but it was clear that her work as a personal assistant took much more of a toll on her than Nigel’s work did on him. As the quasi-permanent members of Miranda Priestly’s entourage they had quickly become friends and mutual support for each other, learning together how to handle the untamable storm that was Miranda, but Nigel could not truthfully say that the redhead did not have her faults. Namely, it was well known amongst their work colleagues that the number of things she took upon herself for Miranda’s perfection often made her more irritable, sarcastic, hurried and blunt than her British roots would indicate. Further, her eating habits were horrendous, a well-known sacrifice made in order to keep her overall shape in regulation with the, frankly, unhealthy levels required by fashion. While Nigel would not pressure her to change any of this, himself having fallen prey to quite a few unhealthy habits since the very field in which they worked demanded such adjustments—and, in Emily’s case, managed to make her the perfect assistant for Miranda—he did wonder, sometimes, if there was a way to make her stop.

Usually, he would worry for her especially during particularly stressful moments. This, he thought, this was definitely one. For instance, she was looking understandably frazzled, her normally sickly pale skin further marred by the shadows her face held, completing a rather gaunt look underlined by the fear found in her eyes. Emily had probably slept little, as usual, her role not allowing for more time and, therefore, making her much more susceptible in general. The current situation was, understandably, probably not what she would have imagined in even the most terrifying of dreams, so surreal it was to them.

It was a complex situation for her. Nigel knew that, while Emily was utterly devoted to Miranda, she was much too logical and practical to hold any illusions as to the reality of the woman in charge. As the first assistant, she handled most of the editor’s life after all. Even if Emily had found a way to keep Miranda’s godhood status in her work, she had simply learnt to manage and ignore—at the same time—the other aspects of their boss’ life, silently acknowledging that her character and personal life tended to be a harsh mess, but refusing to state it out loud. She expected it, Miranda’s weakness, just as she expected every aspect of Miranda’s life, without exception. But she would not speak of it, implicitly understanding that showing weakness was anathema to the editor.

This, however, this was new. And unexpected. With potential to shake the entire foundation of this logic. Which had obviously thrown Emily, who had always struggled with sudden changes on what she considered her constants, into a whole new parallel world where nothing worked as it should. As a personal assistant, this meant that she could not plan and go through Miranda’s schedule as she usually would, unable to analyze her boss’ mood or modify parts as needed. In essence, this was a catastrophe for Emily since she did not know how Miranda would react to anything while in this state. An equation cannot be solved, after all, if one of the variables is missing.

Further behind this pressing need to understand, however, was concern, much like Nigel’s own. Miranda looked happy, but could just a night really change someone this much? Especially someone like her?

“You are not alone,” Nigel finally responded, “I think no one knows what to expect with her right now. I think no one could guess.” Then, hesitantly, he started again “Though maybe…”

“I know what you are going to say. Andrea. But no,” cut off Emily, a sour look at home on her face. “Really, that woman just had to come in like the most unfashionable tornado and leave a crushing mess in her place. Just no.”

“Again with this?” reproached Nigel, quietly observing their boss smiling at a hidden picture.

“You know as well as I do that it is true. She came in, the country girl looking like a character in a comedy show, somehow survived after infringing Miranda’s rules, stayed on despite it all as second assistant, even, I’ll admit, surpassing me in skills,” Emily begrudgingly paused at that, continuing, “though she should just have left and saved us all some time. She then backstabbed me by taking my place on the Paris trip and had the audacity to just quit on the spot and leave Miranda alone during a critical moment—the unthinkable! You can’t have forgotten how terrible Miranda’s mood was in the following months.”

“And yet, our dear Andy still somehow got the job she had always wanted, landing her interview as a journalist for the Mirror with Miranda’s reference and suffering no visible consequences for her actions.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Emily, “it makes no sense how that woman gets away with everything. No one else would have survived, but she did. She never made any sense. Not when it regarded Miranda, at least.”

Amused and shaking his hairless head, Nigel stated, “you know very well there’s much more to it than that. Andrea was, after a bit of—admittedly urgent—polishing, a fantastic assistant and one of the best people we know. Miranda simply saw more in her, excellence, pushing her outside of her boundaries. Andy’s decision to quit, and way of quitting, certainly induced anger and Miranda’s resulting temper was… terrifying, but she couldn’t blacklist someone like Andrea, there was far too much invested in it.”

“Best person, best person… she still backstabbed me and caused chaos,” Emily stubbornly held, regrettably unable to deny the rest, “though I still find their actions strange despite the context. Miranda would never let it pass with anyone else, and Andrea is, as I loathe to admit it, much too professional to simply go through with quitting as she did.”

“She did apologize to you for taking your place, sending you exactly what you wanted. If I remember correctly, you did appreciate the line of clothes from Paris. Besides, we both know you would have been unable to go anyway, seeing your accident,” reminded Nigel, amused, before considering, “and, while I understand where you are coming from because the connection between both was always peculiar enough that even the casual observer could tell, Andy’s relationship with Miranda is, and has always been, undefined, but one rooted in deep admiration flowing both ways.”

Emily pursed her lips, “why must you always defend her? And why did Miranda see anything in her? She is just a fat girl from nowhere state and no idea on how life works.”

Nigel could not help but laugh at that before responding, “because not even you believe what you say. You certainly hope it was so, sometimes, but I know that you like her just as much as we do despite your scalding words.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter now either way, she is not here, and Miranda’s sudden mood remains a mystery.”

At that, they both returned to watching Miranda, attempting to figure out the missing piece of information they needed to solve the puzzle. Her lingering gaze towards a copy of the Mirror, one of the many newspapers that she subscribed to, surprised them. It was an unusual one in the sense that every other journal was well-known amongst the most internationally credited ones, while the Mirror, simply put, was not.

Odd, thought Nigel. Miranda had raised eyebrows when, a month or two following Andrea’s sudden departure, she had subscribed to the paper in question. It had been problematic for many because no one could understand her actions. They had already learned not to utter Andrea’s name, yet she was legendary amongst them due both to her brilliant work as an assistant and her subsequent departure. They also knew that while it was true that all the second assistants were dubbed Emily due to their inconsequential nature by Miranda, as had been the case before Andrea’s arrival, the actual standard to which they were held, the person they were constantly compared to, was actually Andrea.

It seemed, to many, that Andrea’s previous existence in the company was to be admired yet simultaneously ignored. Nigel himself held complex feelings on the issue; he quite simply did not know how to treat the question since Andy’s departure was triggered, at least in part, by the wrong Miranda had done him in Paris.

Guiltily, Nigel could not deny that a part of him was pleased at the idea. Miranda’s promise to give him the position of his dreams, only to have it be ruined during her power games with her enemies, had somewhat shattered his friendship with the editor at the time. What he had been promised had been, in essence, sacrificed in order to keep Miranda at the top and, despite himself, it had hurt. Logically, he understood, had even performed similar actions himself in order to get ahead. Having his dream job, promised to him by someone he considered a friend, be ripped away from him at the last minute due to power struggles, could do nothing but hurt. While he despised himself for it, Andrea’s actions had thus brought him some satisfaction since he couldn’t react or hold against Miranda her decision otherwise.

On the other hand, however, he had seen the consequences of Andy’s actions and it had not been pretty. Nigel would even venture to guess that it had caused more ravage than Miranda’s divorce with her third husband. They had happened at relatively the same time, but it was when Andrea’s name was said, and not Stephen’s, that anyone would suffer from an actual emotionally angry glare. Stephen was inconsequential, Andrea was not. Whatever may be the reaction Miranda was aiming to show, mostly anger, it could not be denied by anyone who knew her that the source of it was hurt, and that the link she had had with Andy had been deeper than anyone suspected.

Nigel, however, did not want to continue this line of thought. There was a reason he had, after all, left it at that with Emily. He could speculate, but that would lead nowhere as neither Andrea nor Miranda talked to each other. Last he had brought it up was at a coffee meeting, Andrea had completely shut down the possibility of talking with the editor, convinced that it would end in disaster. So he tucked away, once again, in his mental folder the lingering looks Miranda gave anything related to the journalist, the small and quiet smiles Andrea held whenever Nigel’s boss was mentioned, the well-hidden but longing sighs Runway’s editor-in-chief gave from time to time since her assistant’s brusque departure, and the warm affection Andy’s eyes held whenever talked about Miranda.

He could not, would not, stay on this topic, as it was truly and well dead.

Despite the ample amount of evidence.

Despite a feeling both would benefit from talking to each other.

Despite wishing for their happiness.

Honestly, while Nigel was still in denial, the idea had settled in his mind a long time before Andrea’s sudden departure. At the time, he had determined that it was likely to just be a one-sided sentiment of affection and admiration, but amped up. The way Andy had learnt to breathe, move, talk and act for Miranda, only thinking of her, had seemed both normal in the sense that Miranda’s assistants had always been pushed towards achieving way beyond the average, but an outlier in that Andy was clearly not in it for the same reasons as the others had pushed themselves, distinguishing herself as unique. At first, he had gathered, it was likely stubbornness and pride in proving Miranda wrong about her and her capacities. Later, however, the former assistant’s feelings had switched on to something that could not be named. Nigel hesitated in labeling it an obsession, because it was not such in the conventional way, but one would be hard pressed not to consider it such at times.

Nevertheless, while Andrea’s actions in Paris had not shocked him—unrequited feelings of any kind always took a toll—he had since found out that he had not noticed how Miranda had also changed and switched her feelings as a consequence of Andy’s presence by her side. She had transformed, becoming overall softer, more willing to listen to reason if Andrea delivered it, even openly relaxed and happier as a consequence of her assistant’s proficiency in weeding out incompetence… or maybe just because of Andrea’s presence. It was hard to tell. But either way, it was undeniable after Paris that, unbeknownst to most, Miranda had changed under the journalist and, since Miranda never did things for others unless she cared, this was clear proof that Andrea had taken an extremely important place in her heart.

Nigel was just not sure how important, and would never dare question his boss’ sexuality, friend or not.

“…Do you still think this has anything to do with her?” Emily asked, startling Nigel from his thoughts. “She has stroked that picture frame three times at least by now.”

“Isn’t it one of the twins’ drawings?”

“No, actually. Well, kind of. Yes, ok?! While it has Cassidy and Caroline’s name on it, but from what I had gathered, Andrea had been taking care of them at the time and they bonded while making it,” whispered Emily, afraid that it would carry over past the glass walls of Miranda’s office. “After Paris I had asked around because she had turned over, refusing to look at it.”

“Can’t say it surprises me,” chuckled out Nigel, “that does sound like something Andrea would do. The two little Priestly demons got quite attached to her after all. But as to whether this is related to her or not, I don’t know. I’m just not sure how something could have happened regarding Six.”

“Well, I doubt its related to the twins. One’s off at summer camp, and the other has been on a trip with her friends to Rome. Neither are having problems, and their calls—or the caretakers—come to me first, but I’ve heard nothing.”

“And that leaves Andrea?”

“And that leaves that girl, yes,” replied Emily, attempting to simulate her usual snooty airs despite her worries. “Its just… they’ve always had, I mean, I know I’m not crazy, and I know this will sound crazy, but I would not utter such crazy words if I didn’t—”

“Emily. Breathe,” said Nigel, before giving up and finally admitting the truth out loud, “and if you’re talking about the thickness of the tension that permeated the air whenever they were together, then no, you have not been the only one to sense it.”

“Thank you! I thought I was… it doesn’t matter. I didn’t want to see it, or even think about it, but…” started Emily, “I used to be jealous you know? Andrea was to Miranda what I wanted to be. But then, neither of their reactions to Paris makes sense. It felt, still feels, more like an unwanted accidental break up more than a sudden resignation by an essential employee.”

And indeed, it did, thought Nigel. If even Emily—who, while by no means lacked intelligence, usually willingly ignored what she wrote down as inconsequential—had noticed, something must have been up between them. Nigel was tempted to go back into denial, write it off as pure fantasy, but he could do so no longer. It was ironic really. His boss’ sudden change of personality forced him into facing what he had been forcibly dismissing since that fateful night in Paris, since he had seen Miranda’s face as Andrea left her.

Acknowledging it would have meant facing his own mistake, after all.

He had felt it then, the pain and regret that filled his friend. He had sensed that, if Miranda did not react in some way, she would lose Andrea. And, while he had not yet been fully conscious that whatever feelings transpired between them was stronger than friendship or respect, he had easily realized that both would regret it.

He just had not been able to get himself to act, still hurting from Miranda’s actions and still feeling justified in Andrea’s rapid but confident walk. It had been for him, wrongly so, karma.

“We aren’t going to get answers by speculating, however,” he finally responded, “And I am not sure about you, but I have grown tired of simply observing. Whoever Miranda is today, she is not the Miranda we have known, but she is happy, and I want to know whatever, or whoever, made her that way.”

Nigel had always meant to directly ask his old friend, having been worried and mystified by her sudden change. Now, he was less so, calming down during his conversation with Emily after realizing through observation that it simply meant his friend and boss was finally happy. He was sure that she would slowly come back to normal at work, but for now he was happy to let her barely contained inner joy permeate other areas of her life.

Still, he was curious, and while Emily’s musings and his own ideas hinted at what might be the source of this happiness, they did not have any actual facts to support it. He had always tried hard to not to take a direct approach when asking Miranda anything, but just this once, he felt that he might come out alive and satisfied.

“That, I am afraid, would be my fault,” stated a voice behind them, startling both. “We might have figured out some… stuff.”

“Andrea!” immediately reprimanded Emily, eyes shifting towards Miranda despite herself at the use of the word— one famously known to be disdained by their boss.

“Oh, come on, Emily. I haven’t worked here in a long while, I can use whatever words I want,” joked the newcomer, doe-like eyes crinkling in the corners as a result of her smile. “Especially now, I would say,” she finished with a smirk.

Nigel, quickly gathering his wits, asked the question burning in his mind. “What happened yesterday, and how did you replace Miranda Priestly with a copy?”

Shifting into a genuine and gentle smile, gazing at Miranda through the glass, Andrea responded. “We might have met by accident last night, and we might have taken the opportunity to talk a lot of our issues out.”

“Details, Six, I am asking for details!” exclaimed Nigel, slipping back into what had been her Runway nickname, owing to the size of clothes she used to wear.

In response Andrea’s clear laughter rang out and reached Miranda whom, upon raising her head and seeing her former assistant, immediately stood and walked out her office in order to join them, willingly ignoring Emily’s terrified expression.

“Like I said,” said Andrea, warmly gazing at the editor as she joined them, grabbing her hand, “we accidentally met last night, and we figured out that we were both unhappy with how we had left things.”

“As always, you have an immense talent for understatements, Andrea,” said Miranda with her usual dry wit, still holding on to Andrea’s hand—albeit nervously, a state which Nigel never thought he would see in her.

“I mean, I could also tell them that I, being my usual clumsy self, tripped on the road as I was chasing a cat. I could go into more detail, mentioning that your car accidentally almost ran me over. And I could certainly go on to explain how, once our gazes crossed, sparks flew between us. How we then talked, finally acknowledging that sparks had always flown between us, but we had, knowingly and unknowingly, ignored it. How this had brought us confusion, pain, and loneliness. How neither of us would contact the other due to stubbornness and misunderstanding. But also, how we both love each other, are in love with each other, and we have been fools, leading to fantastic sex in which I fucked for as long as you would allow me to” said Andrea, “I don’t think you want them to know all that, however. The full details are, after all, a secret just between us, no?”

At the time, neither Nigel nor Emily had been able to mutter up an answer, their brains simply unwilling to function, although they would often laugh about it later on. The astounding content of Andy’s little speech, her smirk filled with affection, and Miranda’s face would remain a legendary memory in Nigel’s mind. He continued to hold on to it for a very long time, certain that the sight of a bright red, blushing, Miranda was one that nobody had seen before, and nobody would see thereafter.

Well, Nigel mused, except for her future wife. May they live happily, and may their enemies run far, far, away. Miranda was certainly nicer with Andrea, but she was, as a result, even more formidable as an opponent. And Andrea may look sweet, but her contacts in journalism, owing to the success she had gathered through her articles, made it so no one would willingly cross her.

An interesting pair they have always been, Nigel concluded. A very interesting pair indeed.


End file.
